


Grey Mule

by Sheffield



Series: Dark!Gregor [4]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:49:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheffield/pseuds/Sheffield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Questions are asked, and decisively answered.  Alys' influence with Gregor is not what she had thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey Mule

“Lieutenant Balinsky,” the Emperor said quietly, “I was sorry to learn about your mother’s illness.”  
Balinsky, a painfully earnest twenty seven year old, managed to suppress the spinal reflex to leap to his feet and brace to attention at his Emperor’s voice and - which was even more miraculous - also managed not to drop the paper-thin china plate in his hand and the exquisite fruit tart it held like an exotic jewel. He was horrified to find, nevertheless, that his eyes filled with tears.  
“Sire,” he said. The Emperor’s lip twitched, but he said nothing, instead making a small covert hand gesture to one of the armsmen standing at attention by the walls.  
The man came forward and unrolled a flimsy on the table in front of Balinsky, carefully taking the plate from him and using it to weigh down one of the ends.

Balinsky looked, uncomprehending.

The Emperor raised an eyebrow.

“The, er, the Mule class shuttle. Komarran design, a cheap barge - well, as cheap as a ship with necklin rods CAN be, that is, sire. I’m sorry, sire: I don’t understand?”

The Emperor sat forward in his chair, also looking at the flimsy.

“Yes. I have to ask you something, Lieutenant, and I - We - Request and Require that you not discuss it with anyone else.”  
“Sire.”  
“Good man. There is... a design flaw in the Mules. A simple explosive charge, placed... here...”  
The long imperial finger reached out and pointed at the schematic. Balinsky frowned as the Emperor continued: “will not simply destroy the ship but, if done inside a wormhole, set up a resonance that, we understand, will render the wormhole unusable for... well, let’s say several years.”  
“But that’s-”  
Gregor’s hand came up. “Yes, yes, Lieutenant: there are dozens of scientists working on the problem even as we speak. But I didn’t ask you here to critique the science, Lieutenant. I asked you here because you are a pilot. And a pilot with no family except a terminally ill mother.”

Balinsky said nothing, his eyes riveted on the schematic.

***

Three days earlier, Lady Alys Vorpatril had arrived at the residence at the unconscionably early hour of 6am and, in spite of being told several times that the Emperor was in a meeting, finally succeeded in gaining audience at 6.45am.

“Good morning Gregor - Sire,” she said briskly. “Now, where are Ivan and Simon? Yes, I understand that Ivan has been detached from his command to personal service to the Emperor and I’m not interested in what it is you need him for. And that dreadful man Haroche keeps telling me that Simon is indisposed but not what his indisposition might be. What I mean, Gregor, is where ARE they? Physically. What planet? What continent? What District? Because as far as I am aware, neither of them has left Vorbar Sultana in spite of all this nonsense about detached duty.”

Gregor sat back in his chair and his face remained blank. He touched his com-link and half a dozen men came into the room.

“Doctor Vorgently, thank you for attending so quickly. As we discussed, it appears that Lady Vorpatril has unfortunately succumbed to the same confusion that Captain Illyan is suffering from and I suggest you administer the same treatment.”

“Gregor, what IS this?”

Vorgently took her gently by the upper arm and she stood up, her arm automatically moving back into the first stage of the self-defence katas Drou still taught the ladies of the residence on Tuesdays and Thursdays. One of the other men with Vorgently took hold of her arm as it went back and she fought, viciously, for all of three seconds before they had her pinned and the hypospray hissed.

“A simple sedative Sire, Lady Vorpatril, until we reach the Grey Mule and can do some proper tests. Don’t worry, Lady Vorpatril. You’ll feel a little light headed, perhaps a little disassociated from your surroundings. That’s perfectly normal. Don’t worry about a thing. Baskin, help Lady Vorpatril regain her balance, that’s it. Oh, and there’s one slight side effect you should be aware of Lady Vorpatril - although the drug will wear off in a couple of hours it will temporarily paralyse your vocal chords till then. As I say, it’s nothing to worry about.”

Gregor watched as the medics walked a silent, glassy-eyed, unprotesting Alys Vorpatril out of his breakfast parlour and his life.

***

“Sign here.”  
“What am I signing for?”  
“Two bod pods - medical stasis chambers, complements of the Emperor. You’re requested-and-required to thaw ‘em out and assist the occupants in their convalescence.”

Lieutenant Voramand took the paperwork from the med tech and started to read - ALL the small print. “Hammond, get someone from the Residence up here. Damned if ImpSec aren’t trying to foster their infectious disease control on us.”  
“There’s nothing infectious about them Lieutenant,” the med tech said. “He’s had a nervous breakdown or something, and then she had one too - I heard it was with worrying about him. Shrieking like a fishwife at the Emperor in his own office, what I heard.”

But Voramand had reached the small print where the names of the patients was given, and he was too croggled to stop the tech bugging out smartly and shuttling back to his ship.

“Grey Mule! Grey Mule report!”

Aral Vorkosigan, Regent of Sergyar, came strolling out of the residence into the spaceport shuttlebay and homed in at once on the panic level in the controller’s voice.

“What’s happening Kelham?”  
“Sir! Two medical stasis chambers unloaded by the shuttle, allegedly containing Chief Simon Illyan and Lady Alys Vorpatril. The Grey Mule isn’t answering, and they seem to be making for the number five wormhole rather than three.”  
“Heading for Beta, not Barrayar... odd... how are Simon and Alys?”  
“Sir! Med tech on the way but the read-outs from the machines suggest both occupants are alive and in good health, although there’s some indication of drugs in both their systems, nothing standard that we can identify with hand-helds.”  
“All right. Lieutenant Voramand, you are relieved. Com tech, report?”  
“The Grey Mule refuses to respond - there’s nothing wrong with our systems, or theirs.”  
“Did I just hear you relieve Lieutenant Voramand, Aral?”  
Aral looked guiltily at his wife and co-regent.  
“Because, you know, Kelham is perfectly capable of handling a rogue shuttle pilot who won’t pick up the com. And I think you and I are needed at the residence. Or at least, lovvie, I want to hear what Simon and Alys have to say when they wake up. No?”

No-one moved until Aral’s lip twitched. “Yes, all right, you win. Can’t a man have ANY fun around here? Voramand, you’re in command. I think we-”

But Cordelia was looking skyward, horrified, at the bright smear of the explosion that was the Grey Mule disintegrating at the heart of their wormhole to Beta.


End file.
